Vacation? I Think Yes
by scrambled-eggs-at-midnight
Summary: Grell is obnoxious, and William is never allowed to retire. Ever.  No matter how much he wants to.


**A/N: This has been gathering dust for a while, so I figured I'd just go ahead and post it already. I haven't seen Will's OVA yet, so I have no idea if this is compliant at all. Never the less, I really wanted to write him. And Grell. Because they are just way too much fun. As per usual, thanks a bunch to HereWeGoOnceMore for the beta.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Will, Grell, chainsaws, or the Bahamas. **

"You know what would make the greatest death-scythe ever?"

William doesn't even bother to look up from the paperwork he's scratching his quill across when Grell throws open the door and bangs into the room. "No."

"Eh, that's okay, I'll tell you anyway—"

"Don't bother." William folds the form neatly, tucks it into an envelope, and seals it tightly before setting it aside to join the rapidly-growing pile on his desk. He picks up a new one. "I didn't mean 'no' as in, 'no, I don't know what would make the greatest death-scythe ever'— which I don't, by the way, and I have absolutely no desire to be enlightened— I meant 'no' as in, 'no, whatever stupid, ungodly contraption you have thought up this time is not nearly as amazing as you think it is and will probably never make it past customs, which in turn means that, no, you can't have it.'" Will pauses in his writing to push his glasses further up his nose and adds, as an afterthought, "Also, get out of my office."

Grell glowers at William, plopping himself down on his desk. "You are absolutely no fun at all." He crosses his arms over his chest and huffs. "Really, I don't know why I put up with you at all sometimes. You're lucky I love you, Willy, or your life would become very boring very fast."

Only in William's dreams.

Irritated, William pushes Grell off his desk, ignoring his indignant shout ("You shouldn't shove a lady, Will!") and begins to rearrange his now-askew papers. "Don't you have someone else you can annoy?"

Down on the floor, Grell brushes himself off, raising his eyebrows over those damn ridiculous glasses. "But Will, you'll always be my favorite person to bother!"

"I know," William snaps.

It's days like today that he wishes he could quit his job, buy a nice little summer home somewhere, and never have to see, speak to, or put up with his annoying coworkers ever again.

He's heard that the Bahamas are lovely this time of the year.

"Anyway," Grell says lazily, examining a nail, "I don't NEED your approval. I already talked to customs, and they said that this time my design is actually practical enough that they can't really stop me if I want to build it." He flicks his hair out of his eyes and leans back, blinking up at William. "Are you SURE you don't want to hear about it?"

William sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. On the one hand, he has a lot of work to do, and Grell is extremely distracting.

On the other hand, he... still has a lot of work to do, and Grell is still extremely distracting, but he'll probably never leave unless William gives in and listens to him.

Anyway, as the head of department, he has to give Grell his approval— which means more damn paperwork— before the scythe can be made anyway, or it will be classified as illegal.

Knowing Grell, even if he doesn't get the approval he'll just go ahead and make the damn thing anyway, regardless of regulation, but William's pretty certain he doesn't want to unleash Grell and his newest death-trap on the unsuspecting public without at least knowing what he's going to be dealing with when they ask him to sort everything out later.

"Oh, fine," he says finally, already starting to regret his decision when Grell's face lights up with glee. "Tell me. And make it fast."

"Wonderful!" Grell says, leaping up and whipping a stack of paper out from... somewhere. Probably one of the giant pockets on that red jacket he's always got slung around his shoulders. "Okay," he says, thumping the papers down on the desk and flipping through them. "Just let me find it, and then... aha!"

"It's not another giant flamethrower, is it?" William asks warily. He's fairly certain that he doesn't want to be held responsible for the entire department burning down, after all.

It would just mean more paperwork in the end.

William sighs. Always with the paperwork.

"It's not another flamethrower," Grell says haughtily. "I told you, customs already cleared it."

"Hm," William says noncommittally, flipping through the papers Grell shoves in his hand. The further he gets through him, he finds, the more trepidation he feels.

"Grell," he says finally, "what IS this thing?"

Grell beams at him. "I call it," he says slowly, leaning in close, "a chainsaw."

"A... what?"

"It's a saw...but it moves!" Grell snatches the papers back excitedly, pointing to one of the sketches. "See, the blade of the saw has this chain wrapped around it— you know, hence the name; clever, right? Of course it is— that's connected to this bit here, and that's got this motor, which is powered by petrol, and the motor makes this thing move, which makes the chain move, and the chain has lots of little blades on it—"

"Grell," William interrupts, "this is incredibly impractical."

"But it's not!" Grell pouts, his voice tipping up into a whine. "Think of how many more souls I could take out with this thing! I would hardly have to work at all—"

"You hardly work at all anyway!"

"— and it would make reaping so much more fun!" Grell clasps his hands in front of his chest and bats his eyelashes. "Pleeeease, Willy? Pretty please? With sugar on top?"

Will bets that there are no annoying redheads in the Bahamas.

At least, none that could possibly be more annoying than Grell.

He could never retire though, he realizes, not really listening to Grell's explanations as to why this chainsaw-scythe is a wonderful idea. For one thing, if he left, there would be absolutely no one who could possibly control (or, to be honest, put up with) Grell as well as he can. Plus, there would be no one to breathe down the necks of the rest of his coworkers and make sure they were doing their own damn jobs instead of passing notes or gossiping or doing whatever it is they do when he's not around to supervise them. The district would fall into total disarray.

Or, William thinks, feeling his face go white, even worse; they could get someone completely incompetent to replace him.

They could get _Grell_ to replace him.

William crosses the Bahamas off his mental list with what's probably more force than necessary.

"Helloooo?" Grell says suddenly, waving his hand in front of William's face. "You in there, Will? It's not polite to ignore a lady, you know!"

"For the last time, you are not a woman!" William shoves his glasses up his nose and pushes Grell's hand away from his face.

"Sooo?" Grell says, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. "Can I keep it?"

William is going to regret this. He is going to regret this so much.

"Fine. But," he adds over Grell's squeal of joy, "if you are caught doing anything with that thing that could possibly count as misuse of a death-scythe, I will not hesitate to—"

"Ooohh, thanks, Will!" Grell says, clapping his hands in joy and running to the door. "This is going to be so much fun!"

He runs out of the room, banging the door against the wall— again— as he goes.

William lets his head thunk down onto his desk. Retirement, never.

A well-overdue holiday in the Bahamas, however...

Is also never going to happen.

William heaves a sigh, raises his head, picks up his quill, and starts filling out Grell's paperwork.


End file.
